The Client
by Cansei de Ser Sexy
Summary: During ten years, Donna has been many things to Harvey Specter; his confident, his mentor, his Girl Friday, even his one-time-lover(never to mention), but when things have gone south with their life, she finds herself in a position that she has never been before: His client. AU after 3x06; inspired by the promos for 3x07.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! A new fan for this fandom, but I think I fell a bit in love with Harvey Specter, and Harvey and Donna. So this is my attempt to do something with them. Hope I'll manage to do justice to their uncommon dynamics, and relationship.**

**This is also inspired by a common trait I've seen in this fandom, and I've been always playing with this idea that you'll see at the end, so I ask myself, 'self, why don't we kill two birds at once?'**

**The last note; I've started writing this after I saw the 3x06 and and the promos for 3x07 'She's Mine' and this is spawn from the promos, but everything after 3x06 is now officially AU.**

**I hope you'll enjoy.**

**Edited by my longtime(and amazing) beta-reader Moonstruck Kitten.**

* * *

**Prologue:**

* * *

Come to think of it, Donna _knew_ she should have known things would end up like this; her on a bar stool, sipping slowly from her drink, the liquor hot and sour against her throat, leaving a burn behind, much like everything in her life related to him. It was all-too-familiar, and God knew how goddamned tired she was of feeling it. But despite being Donna, she had never known how to get rid of it either, never, as if it was a part of her, like how _he_ had grown to be a part of her, which he might very well have done.

Fuck, she really should have known better. (So much for knowing things.)

Because, even though she didn't want to, there were times she'd thought about _possibilities. _In cold hours of the dark nights, when loneliness got the best of her, she had thought about _him and her_, each prospect as different as she could dream, and each one had ended with one of them pulling the short stick too far. She wasn't always sure which of them would end up with it, (and really, who could know such a thing with him?) but she had always known one thing very clearly: Harvey was the one who had better defenses.

Which was probably the reason he was out with that bimbo, perhaps already shagging her senseless, the thin blonde model, with a lovely round heart-shaped face, and an expression full of admiration for the man she was draped over his arm, and a dazzling smile on her face. Nope, she wasn't jealous, not one bit. Why she should be? It wasn't like it was the first time that _she_ had arranged an escort for him, or it would be the last, apparently. But really, why couldn't he find someone else, someone else that didn't look like the exact opposite of her.

She sighed; inconsiderate bastard. Always had to go for the killing strike, then turn the blade for kicks.

Her mouth flattened in a grim line, and she finished her drink. Her face soured, but she told herself it was only because of the drink.

_His face was as if it was carved out of stone. "I told you what he did," he said in clipped tones, voice emotionless, the only indication of his anger was the heat in his eyes that he couldn't manage to hide. "I told you what he did," he repeated, voice rising, "but you still didn't mention that to me."_

_She shook her head frantically. "He said he wasn't involved, that it was before," she objected. He had to understand, he of all people needed to understand. She would never betray him. "Harvey, if I didn't believe—"_

_"How could you believe him?" he shouted, finally losing all pretense, the impeccable impassible attitude he extruded so effortlessly crumbling down into broken accusations. And it hurt, a lot._

_"I just wanted to—" she started then stopped, unable to finish. Why it was so hard for him to see? She only wanted to believe him; she only wanted to live her life._

_And the truth was that she was screwing it up. "I don't understand," he shook his head, "I really can't, Donna."_

_And of course, he didn't. Things would have been different in that coffee house years ago, if only he did. "I just did, okay?" she defended herself, the words sounding pathetic even to her own ears. She closed her eyes, and let out a deep breath. "Look. I wasn't trying to betray you or anything. I just—"_

_"—believed him," he completed for her, again in that clipped tone, stoicism, as she lost him behind those walls. "I warned you, Donna," he then said. "Don't say I didn't."_

_And yes, he had. Tears welled in her eyes, and she gnawed the inside her cheek to keep them at bay, and told him the only thing that came from her heart. "Harvey, I'm so sorry."_

_"I know," he countered, turning his back to her, "That's what my mother always used to say to my father after she—" He stopped, shaking his head._

_"Harvey—!" She exclaimed, unshed tears still in her eyes, "I'm not your—"_

_"I know," he repeated again, his back still to her. "That'll be all, Donna. I'll see you in the morning."_

* * *

_Excuse me for not holding up to your ridiculously high standards, Mr. Specter_. "I just made a mistake in—reading—his intentions," she said out loud to the man in front of her, Philip Fields or Heels, she wasn't sure. Possibly, not Heels. Though, that would be really awesome. She would like to be a Heels. Donna Heels. Rather fancy. "I mean, who wouldn't make such a mistake with _them_?"

"Are you really going to talk about your boss the whole time?" Fields/Heels asked. Donna leaned forward and squinted to understand if he was bored or jealous. Bored, she decided after close inspection.

She pulled back, and nodded at him. "You know what, Philip, you're absolutely right!" She lifted her glass up, and drank it in one swallow. "No more talk about bosses." She set the glass on the bar with a hard thud. She waved her hand at the barmen. "Sweetie, another round for me and my friend here."

"Whoaa..."the man said, taking the glass away, "You might wanna consider going a bit more slowly."

"Don't boss me around," she chided, her words slurred, as her forefinger rose. "No more bosses, remember?" He laughed, and let the drink go. She took it, and looked at it. She made a face. "So," she asked, "what are we going to talk about now?"

"I don't know," he answered with a shrug. "Why don't you tell me about yourself a bit?"

She moved closer in her stool, and whispered to him, "I think I'd like to be a Heels." The man looked at her in confusion. "Donna Heels," she said, "Fancy, isn't it."

"Yeah," he said, laughing, his hands starting to play with the ginger locks over her shoulder.

She pulled back, "God, you're being touchy-feely."

"And you're drunk."

"I'm not—" she protested indignantly.

"Drunk?"

"God, I'm drunk." Her head fell on the bar, between her hands. "My sort of—boyfriend used me to get to my boss, my boss thinks I'm such a bitch, and now, I'm drunk."

"Hey," he said, patting her shoulder, "you're a funny one, at least."

She turned her face to the counter, and smiled at the stranger that only knew her name. "Aw, aren't you sweet."

The man laughed, and ordered another round of whiskey.

Tonight, she decided, was going to be a long night. She was going to make sure of it.

* * *

_Biip Biip Biip!_ Groaning, she opened her eyes, and then closed them immediately. That wasn't a good idea. Too much light. It was hard, whatever this place was, it was hard, and cold, and it was tearing up her skin. And that fucking _biip_ was just killing her brain.

She opened her eyes, and forced them to stay open. She gulped through her throat, letting out a low raw groan. Jesus, that was one hell of a hangover. She rolled over the pavement—then stopped, as her clouded mind finally registered where she was. Pavement! What the hell she was doing on the pavement, and where the hell were her jeans?

She bowed her head and looked at her legs, and blinked a few times at the thin line blood dripping over them. Oh, that must be the reason why it hurt like a bitch. And whoever that person on the phone was, he was one of a persistent son of a bitch. She groaned reaching for her phone in her clutch bag, a little surprised to find the bag open, but not surprised one bit to read the name on the screen.

"Didn't I tell you I'd see you in the morning," Harvey said, obviously aggravated, "Where the hell are you?"

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she answered, "I'm not—sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

She rested her back against the wall of one of the buildings. "God, please, no more screaming. I'm battered, hurt, I passed out on the pavement—"

"What?"

"Bloodied—"

"Bloodied?!" his voice rose, as Donna sensed the panic in it.

She looked down, down at her legs, where the blood poured into a little lake. "Oh my god!" she whispered, "Oh!My!God!"

"Donna," he said in a commanding voice, "Donna, stay calm, and tell me where you are."

"Oh, god," she could only mutter, tears bursting from of her eyes like a downpour, as reality finally settled in, and the ache between in her legs became unbearable.

"Donna! Goddammit," Harvey yelled, as the phone dropped from her hand. She pulled her legs over up and slowly skidded over her side, her mind numb to Harvey's screams.

"Donna! Donna! Donna! Donna, please, TALK TO ME!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, here the 'first chapter' again. Yeah, the previous chapter is now the prologue, and I tweaked it a bit too to make it more consistent, but you don't need to read it again because at the end you'll see it there. :) So yeah, we're going backwards, because I need to enforce the premises of the story because I move on to my own plot, hence re-writing the episode as for my own. So it's still AU.**

**Thanks for the warm welcoming you gave to me. It was very incentive for me to put this up :)**

**Edit: Whoa, just saw the new sneak peek! Ha ha, it's like fanfics have come true! Yay :D**

* * *

**Chapter One:**

**Part I**

* * *

_48 Hours Ago:_

In retrospect, Donna thought it should have started with a rainy, brooding air told gloomily of the shape of things to come. But it wasn't a rainy day when she had emerged out of her apartment on 50th, it was a sunny, bright day, full of opportunities, and her mind was occupied with the theater that Stephen had promised to take her to, and what to wear for the night.

Later, she would think Fate must have been laughing at her maniacally.

She missed the metro. That should have been the first tip off. But it was such a sunny bright day, full of opportunities, nothing bad could happen on such a day. She took a taxi. The taxi got stuck in the middle of rush hour traffic, and that could have been her second warning, but what morning in the City-That-Never-Sleeps didn't have traffic?

She got out, and started to walk. She had had to skip her yoga classes twice that week, so she needed the exercise anyway.

Before she walked into Pearson, Darby, & _Specter_, she went to the coffee shop next to their building to pick up their morning usual. But it turned out her _usual_ drink had ran out, and that should have been the_ third_ damn tip, but she didn't see any reason why she shouldn't have something new. She had been broadening her horizons, after all, hadn't she?

So Donna Paulsen walked into the Pearson Darby Specter after walking a few miles, a smile on her lips, a new drink in her left hand, and an old usual for her boss in the other.

Some things changed, she knew, and some didn't. "Good morning, Harvey," she leaned over in her chair and extended the cup as was usual. But instead of receiving the absent half-smile, half-smirk he displayed everyday as he passed her, she was greeted with a somber look and grave eyes, and as he passed her with only a glance.

That should have been her _last_ fucking tip, but as it was going to be proven in the next forty eight hours, Donna Paulsen wasn't as all-knowing as she believed herself to be.

She placed the cup on her desk, and padded after him. "Hey," she called as he settled into his chair behind his desk. "What's the problem?"

"Your _boyfriend_," he almost spat the word, "sabotaged Hessington's case."

"What?"

"He led Cameron to Colonel Mariga," he explained, his voice rising, "He made a call and Cameron traced it back to Mariga."

She shook her head. "I'm sure there's an explanation," she said coolly, trying not to project her own distress. This was why she had never wanted to be involved with someone at work. Things went south every day in their lives, their motives or reasons clashed frequently, and soon you found yourself in the position of trying to make excuses for the person you were with. But she wasn't making excuses, she was making a statement. Stephen wouldn't do something like that. He had no reason for it. Well, if you didn't count prolonging his stay in New York by sabotaging the murder case, still Donna _doubted_ it was that.

"He claimed he called to bribe to help _me_."

"Well, I'm not sure about the helping part," she countered, tsking, "but I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."

"I don't care what he meant," he shot back. "He can't go behind my back on my case, especially if _I_ have to clean up his mess."

Donna heaved a sigh, feeling like this was going to be one of many upcoming _bothers _they were all going to be faced with. "Harvey, you only need to make it clear that your case is—off-limits."

"Yeah," he nodded, "I told I'd beat the shit out of him if he ever saw him close to my case again."

Donna gave him a look. "Harvey."

He gave her a look back. "No," he objected before she could say anything else. "No," he repeated, "I'm angry at him because of the _work_," he stressed, "not because of—the other thing."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Donna," he said, then started again, "Okay, Donna," he leaned forward, "Look, this is strictly about the business. The fact that I don't like the thought of you two together doesn't mean I'm going to forget how to be professional." He leaned back, then rested his arm over his desk, and stated; "And I want the same from you too."

"What?"

"You're sleeping with him, Donna," he said bluntly, without blinking, "I don't want that to cloud your judgment."

"My judgment?" she asked back, voice incredulous, "Harvey, don't you think you're overacting? I'm not sleeping with an _enemy._"

"And don't you think you're underacting?" he shot back. "He poked his nose into my business twice—"

"It actually _helped_ you to keep the case the first time," Donna pointed out, shaking her hands in front of her.

"I don't want you to be comprised because—"

"I am NOT comprised," she exclaimed, walking to his desk, "How can you even—"

He stood up and went to her side. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to warn you not to be comprised unintentionally. There is a difference."

Getting closer to him, Donna looked back at him. "Harvey," she said seriously, "I'd never betray you for _anyone._"

"I _know_," he quickly countered, "your loyalty isn't what worries me."

"Then what is?"

"His loyalty."

* * *

The photocopy machine wasn't working, like always. But today she didn't feel like playing nice with it. So instead of gently but stiffly nudging it with her hip, she chose a more direct approach. She kicked it with her heel, _hard_.

"Ouch," the familiar British accent said behind her back, "What did that poor machine do to you?"

Stiffly she pushed the lid up and placed her document on the glass. "It was being a bad boy," she shot back, pulling the lid down.

"And this is what you do to bad boys?"

Leaning forward to take her copy from the tray, she sneered, "Only to those I _like_."

"Then I don't want to see what you do to the ones you don't."

"You don't," she stated, and stood in front of him. "Why did you have to get involve with his case?"

"I wanted to help."

She tsked, shaking her head. "I remember him asking you specifically to back down."

"Donna," Stephen said getting closer, "I'm a fixer, that's what I do. I fix things."

"Well," she shook her shoulders. "Harvey says you screwed it up."

"Well, I _fixed_ it the first time, though," he reminded her like she had done to Harvey.

She heaved a sigh. "Yes, yes, you did." She looked at him. "Look, things are already awkward as it is. Don't make it more—awkward for us, okay. Just leave his case alone. He doesn't need your help."

He nodded. "Can I trust you with that?" she asked, eyeing him.

"You have my word on it."

"Good," she said, and walked past him, "I'll hold you to it."

The day passed as it usually did, outside the bright sun left its place to a warm evening, and a nice summer night. Harvey had left, taking Mike along with him, and she would have already left as well if Rachel wasn't such a lost cause in dealing with that damn photocopier.

"Donna," the brunette smiled, walking at her side toward the copy room, "thank you so much. You're the last one who managed to get it work today, and I really need to get these copies tonight." She held up the folder in her hand. "That thing is killing me," she continued, "I wrote memos to Jessica countless times, but she never listens!"

"I think she likes to see us suffering over it," Donna mused out loud. "I have to say, when you see at it from above—it must look quite funny."

"But it's not!" Rachel objected. "It's like a modern torture device."

"Oh, don't exaggerate," she opened the door, and walked to the machine in question. "You just need to know how to deal with it." She caressed its length. "It's like a man, Rachel, sometimes it needs you to be compassionate, caring," she said, brushing her fingertips over it, "and sometimes it needs you to beat some sense into it." She kicked it for the second time that day right at the right place. "You just need to learn to distinguish one from the other." The machine started with a gurgke, and she posed her hands at her each side, and smiled.

"You're the best," Rachel said.

"That's hardly news," she quipped and pointed to the tray. "Put them there."

Then she noticed it. The count number on the screen. She turned to Rachel. "You said no one worked it after me?"

"Nope," Rachel corrected. "After you and Stephen left the room, Norma tried to do something, but she couldn't. She had to go down to the associates' floor."

Hastily she gathered Rachel's copies, and handed them to the brunette. "Okay, here your copies. Done."

Rachel took a step forward, then when she noticed Donna wasn't moving she turned back. "You're not coming?"

Donna smiled back at him. "I—just remembered I forgot—" she faltered for a second, "—something. I'll see you tomorrow."

Giving her a look, Rachel half shrugged. "Okay, see you tomorrow."

She smiled at her again.

Her smile vanished as soon as Rachel disappeared behind the door. She hastily opened the photo machine, and printed out the last document printed before Rachels'.

While she was reading the pages, she shook her head at her own naivety.

* * *

She threw the copies on his desk. "What is this?" Stephen asked, his eyes catching the pages.

"I think it's self-explanatory."

"Donna—"

"You thought I wouldn't notice?"

"I thought you wouldn't go behind my back," he shot back, leaning backward.

"Nah—don't direct the blame on me here," she warned, and declared, "You went to take Colonel Maliga's deposition."

"Yes," he admitted.

"Just a few hours ago you made me a promise!"

"And I made a promise to Darby, too."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have made the promise to me."

"In this point, I have to point out that that deposition was taken before I made you that promise." She titled her head and looked at him. "You can check it out. You'll see that I'm telling the truth."

She stayed silent. He stood up, and went to her side, and held her upper arms. "I know this has only been an arrangement for a brief time, but what we have, Donna, is important to me. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it." She still didn't talk, only looked at his eyes, trying to understand if he really meant it. "Do you believe me?" he asked softly.

Later that night, lying in her own bed, looking at her ceiling, she decided that she didn't believe him, not exactly, but she wanted to.

* * *

The next day was all sunny and bright again, but this time there was no denying her gut feeling, there was an approaching storm lingering in the tense silence, and she wondered if she should just head home, batten all the hatches, and never leave.

She didn't, of course. Even if a storm was coming, she would be there facing it, like she always did.

When nothing happened after Harvey, Jessica, and Mike returned from Ava, she told herself she was exaggerating. Nothing was happening because nothing had happened. Stephen wasn't hiding anything. She wasn't hiding anything, she wasn't _comprised_ by her feelings.

She did what she always did; filed the records, arranged his appointments, fixed a date for him, the usual stuff. Then night fell in, bringing the news she was dreading.

"His phone records," Mike explained, laying the pages on the meeting table, "showing multiple calls to Tony Giannopoulos. They have been talking for some time, and these are the records for the firm he's founding—"

Donna turned and left the room. She couldn't just stay there and hear the rest. She needed to find him, hear from him. There must be an explanation. He couldn't betray her, not like this. God, not like this. Please, not like this.

She burst into his room, and asked directly, this time not even bothering with fronts or pleasantries. "You've been talking to Tony Giannopoulos since you got here," she stated.

He looked at her, placing the document in his hands on his desk. "Guilty as charged, I guess, isn't it?" He smiled painfully, biting, and it cut her heart more than his betrayal. She had never trusted him, yes, but she had _wanted to_ believe him. She wanted to believe there could be more things in this life for her, more than what she had with _him_. Some fool she was. "You never wanted to fix anything," she stated, because she needed to hear words spoken out loud. She needed to hear them confirmed. "You were only trying to make sure that Harvey screwed it up."

He nodded. "You made a deal with Tony Giannopoulos," she continued. "You're walking away from Darby, founding your own firm, and Tony—"she halted, letting out a sigh, "is going to be your first client along with Hessington Oil."

He stood up from his chair, and came to her side, his eyes enflamed. "You don't get to say anything to me," he countered heatedly. "Not while Harvey and you are conspiring against Jessica!"

"The only problem is that Harvey has never lied to me," she shot back, "And this is not about Harvey and me. This is about you and me. _You_ lied to me."

"If I had told you the truth, would you have kept it yourself, or would you have ratted me out to Harvey."

She shook her head. "I never lied to you. I've never made it unclear where my loyalty lies."

"Then you should not ask me to answer this question, Donna."

"Then why—" she asked, "when you came to me, when you asked me out—" she then stopped, and looked at him. "I'm going to ask you a question, Stephen, about us, not about business, not about Harvey, _only_ about us. And if you ever felt _anything_ for me, you would answer it truthfully." She took his silence as an affirmative. "Did you ask me out because you wanted to be near Harvey and the case?"

He looked at her, his eyes clouded, and pained. "What I feel for you now is real, Donna." He took a step forward. "I'm moving away. Come with me. Leave him behind. He doesn't deserve you."

"And you do?" she shouted back.

"I'll try my best."

"Answer my question," she shouted back. "Did you ask me out to be near to him or not?"

"You're Donna," he said, "You already know the answer."

She tried not to do it, she really did, but in the end she couldn't help herself.

She slapped him.

* * *

She went to the Harvey's office later. She was done with secrets, she was done with lies; she was done with everything. He was alone when she entered, playing with the glass in his hands, the expensive liquid amber in the crystal. For a moment her eyes caught at the amber, and she wondered how her life had come to his. Things had been so simple with them, they had always kept things simple. Then last year _happened_, and nothing was simple again.

She wished she had that drink. "I knew he was there to take Mariga's deposition."

His hand froze in the air, "What?"

"I knew he took his deposition before Mike told us in the meeting room."

His face was as if it was carved out of stone. "I told you what he did," he said in clipped tones, voice emotionless, the only indication of his anger was the heat in his eyes that he couldn't manage to hide. "I told you what he did," he repeated, voice rising, "but you still didn't mention that to me."

She shook her head frantically. "He said he wasn't involved, that it was before," she objected. He had to understand, he of all people needed to understand. She would never betray him. "Harvey, if I didn't believe—"

"How could you believe him?" he shouted, finally losing all pretense, the impeccable impassible attitude he extruded so effortlessly crumbling down into broken accusations. And it hurt, a lot.

"I just wanted to—" she started then stopped, unable to finish. Why it was so hard for him to see? She only wanted to believe him; she only wanted to live her life.

And the truth was that she was screwing it up. "I don't understand," he shook his head, "I really can't, Donna."

And of course, he didn't. Things would have been different in that coffee house years ago, if only he did. "I just did, okay?" she defended herself, the words sounding pathetic even to her own ears. She closed her eyes, and let out a deep breath. "Look. I wasn't trying to betray you or anything. I just—"

"—believed him," he completed for her, again in that clipped tone, stoicism, as she lost him behind those walls. "I warned you, Donna," he then said. "Don't say I didn't."

And yes, he had. Tears welled in her eyes, and she gnawed the inside her cheek to keep them at bay, and told him the only thing that came from her heart. "Harvey, I'm so sorry."

"I know," he countered, turning his back to her, "That's what my mother always used to say to my father after she—" He stopped, shaking his head.

"Harvey—!" She exclaimed, unshed tears still in her eyes, "I'm not your—"

"I know," he repeated again, his back still to her. "That'll be all, Donna. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

**All right, the second part will be Harvey's side of the story, which will conclude with that phone call, then we're going to move to _the real story_ :)**

**Till then, be well.**

**G.**


	3. Chapter 3

_All right, guys, here the last part of Chapter One. I'm really enjoying writing this story, and I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as me writing. _

_So please, review if you believe it to be worthy. It'd only take a few seconds, but would make me very happy and motivated to keep going._

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter One:**

**Part II**

* * *

The rest of the night passed how it had started, nothing short of _subtly_ disastrous. Dressed in a tux, Harvey participated in the party as it was expected of him, Lily draped over his arm. He saw Jessica across the dance floor, talking with one of the senior partners, her eyes meeting his every now and then across the sea of people.

If there was some good that had come from his afflation with Darby and how it all had ended, Harvey decided, it was making up with Jessica. Turning his head back, he looked at Lily. "Come on, let's go."

"Go?" Lily asked back, laughing, "But we just got here."

"Well, I'm bored," he said. And the mandatory attendance had been fulfilled. If he was needed he would have stayed, but for tonight, there was nothing he could gain from this gamble. He only wanted to go back to his condo and forgot this day had ever happened.

Lilly, on the other hand, came to the wrong conclusion. "Seriously?" she cooed, titling her head with a perfect smile, and a perfectly manicured finger poked him at his chin. "Can't you wait a bit?"

He only smiled back, and turned to walk away. He heard her giggle under a muttered 'men'. The amusement turned to curiosity as the driver, Ray, took a left turn instead of right, and she gathered that they were not going to his place.

"Oh," she said, looking at the familiar buildings, "We're going to my place?"

"Yes," he answered pouring another scotch.

"Okay," she said, "I thought you don't like to other's apartments but whatever—"

Ray parked in front of her house. "Usually yes," he agreed, as placing the glass down.

Lily opened the door, put a foot down, then looked at his unmoving figure. "You coming, old man?" she asked, laughing.

"No," he said. Her head snapped back. "I'm going to go home, Lily."

"Oh."

"I'll call you later."

She stopped for a second, her one leg still out of the car, and looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Harv, are you okay?"

He gave her a perfect smile. "Yes, darling," he then waved her off, "Now, go, I'll see you later."

He didn't want to go to home, he realized after she had stepped out. "Ray, let's go back to the office," he said, yanking his bowtie off.

The corridors were deserted, as it was close to midnight, and the fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. His eyes lingered for a second on the empty cubicle in front of his office, before he walked in.

Inside, he put on a Tom Waits record, poured himself another scotch, and sat on his chair. He leaned back, rocked on the wheels of his chair, resting his head back on the chair's headrest, and as Tom Wait's trademark melancholy growl filled the room, he closed his eyes, feeling tranquil for the first time since the blasted morning.

And of course, it had to be interrupted as soon as it had started. "Oh," Mike said in the dark, and he opened his eyes. "I thought you were at Maroni's party."

"I was—" he said, his head still resting back, "Just came to—"

"To mope?" Mike asked, laughing, and walked in, "though, Tom Waits is a good choice."

He lifted his head up. "I don't mope," he declared, and took another sip from his drink. "When you're like me," he continued, "it's called brooding."

"So you came to—brood?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "It's a good look on men." Then he squinted at his associate. "Where are you going?"

Mike looked at him. "Home-?"

"Why are you going home, Mike?"

"Because," he drawled, still looking at him as if he was having a fever, "it's almost midnight?"

"Let me rephrase, dumbass," he placed the glass down, "Why are you going home at _almost-midnight_?"

"Look," Mike said, approaching to his desk. "I know we're going to trial, but Harvey, you know it's a lost cause."

Anger rising, he stood and stopped the record. "It's certainly a lost cause if my second man leaves the firm at midnight."

"Harvey—" Mike said, "I'm not saying we won't go out fighting—"

"The go back to your place, and starting working!"

"But perhaps we all need to take the night off."

He looked at Mike pointedly. He squirmed a bit. "Rachel called Donna from Stanford," the younger man explained.

His face blanked, and he asked, "How is she?"

"Not good, understandably," Mike heaved a sigh, then continued as Harvey took his glass from the counter. "I mean, she just learned that the son of a bitch used her to get closer to you."

His hand stopped mid-air, "What?"

"Uh—" Mike squirmed again, "Um—Donna asked him, and he didn't—deny it."

His mind went blank as his vision filled with Donna, on the verge of tears, looking at him, whispering, "I'm so sorry, Harvey."

His fists clenched, and his feet moved of their own accord. He passed Mike, and exited his office at a sprint. "Hey, Harvey, Harvey," Mike yelled, but he didn't turn back. There was only thing in his mind, only one, and his fists itched as something pinched in his chest.

"Throw me the keys," he told Ray outside, and drove to the Madison Hotel. The itch got worse as he walked inside, and found the room he was staying in. By the time he stood in front of the door, it was a throb.

When the door opened, he punched him in the nose, without a word.

They had already passed the talking stage.

* * *

He stepped into the cool summer air, and the wind beat at him, fresh and lively against his skin. His head turned, and scenes passed behind his eyes, voices drummed in his ears like in a lucid dream, blinking in and out. Adrenalin pumped pure acid into his body, but his hands had stopped itching.

He closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at his bruised fists. He turned left, and walked aimlessly.

It was no wonder, though, that his feet brought him there.

The building was familiar after the last year, and Harvey wondered why he had always waited for her down at the curb, never taking the stairs up, to her door.

He had once.

And he had again, gone up, walked inside, looked at the walls, sat on her couch, took his place at the table like they hadn't done any of those things over them, repeatedly, all night, until dawn...

_Her lips were hungry as she gnawed his, bruising and claiming, coated with her strawberry lipstick, and whipped cream, and some other things. Her hands trailed over his body, as she moved over him, fingertips gently brushing over the skin that her lips had bitten, and suddenly all the reasons to not to do this earlier seemed baseless, and stupid, and cowardly as she undid him slowly, each of part of him coming undone willingly. "God, Donna," he whispered in her ear, as his hand pushed the ginger hair over her shoulder, and he kissed the skin he'd exposed, his lips as bruising as hers, marking his territory, much like she had. "You're killing me."_

_She laughed languorously, and moved over him again, taking him in fully. His head titled back, his face twisted with something close to a gasp and closer to pleasure. He felt her fingers dig further into his skin, as she bit his pulse, before murmuring, "You will die happy." _

The wind beat against his skin, pulling him out of the memory. He never let himself think about that night, never let himself consider the possibilities, never let himself turn down that path, and now just standing outside of her house, he couldn't find it in himself to turn back either.

But he couldn't seem to be able to go inside either, so he just stood there, in front of the building. Suddenly, it seemed to him that that was exactly what he had been doing for years, never going inside, but never going back either, just standing—waiting, waiting for something to happen.

Then it did. The door opened, and she emerged, clad in simple jeans and a nice top, her face bearing the looks of someone who had cried long and hard, then she suddenly stopped and smiled, melancholic and absent, but all-knowing. She was Donna, he mused, she knew everything.

No, not everything. There had been things she didn't know, things she hadn't seen, and for a minute, he just wished to go back and rewind all that had happened, and go back to being their old selves, when everything had been possible, and things hadn't been this complicated. _I just wanted to believe him._

But they couldn't. They couldn't forget the past, couldn't forget the promises they had made. They could only look ahead, keep their calm, and fight back.

Donna turned left, started to walk away, away from him, and he stayed behind, looking at her retreating back as the gap between them widened in the ways more than he could have foreseen.

_"Donna! Donna! Donna! Donna, TALK TO ME!"_

* * *

_"You will die happy," is burrowed from one of the stories of my fellow friend-author Team Damon._

_Oh, btw, I didn't mention it the last time, but this is still-and will be-beta-read by Moonstruck Kitten._

_Until the next time, be well._

_G._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hullo, here the next chapter, but before it, I'd like to take the opportunity to answer the question that was asked by a guest reviewer. First, thank you for your review, and no, I don't believe we've have seen her actually in jeans before. After she got fired in Season 2, there were times she was seen in causal clothing, such as yoga pants, but not actually in jeans. But that was an intentional choice, and the reason will probably be obvious with this update._

_Thanks for the comments, guys. I appreciate each of them._

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

* * *

The next morning he walked into Pearson Darby Specter purposefully, dressed flawlessly in his best suit, complete with a dark tie and dark shoes, all the shields he had raised for the battle. The only remnants from the previous day were the plasters on his knuckles, and a small scratch above his eyebrow that was already bruised.

Mike walked out of opposite elevator at the entrance to the firm. "Hey, are—" Mike started as he trotted next to him, trying to keep up with his hurried pace.

Harvey held his hand up, his eyes still fixed ahead. "New day, new game," and he had already lost enough time thinking about the _past._ He made a left turn and emerged on the corner where his office stationed; people were already buzzing around, preparing for another workday-fight. "If they want a trial," Harvey remarked, voice rasping, "then they _will_ get it."

"Harvey—"

"Get Katherine, there's a meeting in ten minutes in the second conference room," he interrupted the young associate again.

"Katherine?" Mike asked, astonished.

Harvey finally spared him a glance. "Why the surprise," he asked, "I thought you enjoyed working together."

Mike laughed incredulously, as his voice thinned, "Oh, that was a very loose way to describe it," he commented.

"Rachel returned?" Harvey asked.

"No, not yet. Her flight is due—"

"Then Katherine it is," he finished. He stopped in front of his office, and his head snapped to left. "Where is Donna?"

Mike turned to the left too, and stared at her empty cubicle. "Uh—perhaps she called in sick?" the young man mused.

"To who?" Harvey asked irritatedly. "_You_?" New day, new game. She wasn't supposed to play the sick card. She was supposed to show up like he did, like nothing had happened, prepared for another battle. It was a game they had been playing for years, and it wasn't time to change the rules now. "Go gather, Katherine," Harvey said, without another glance at the younger man. "I'm gonna see you in ten minutes."

Perhaps, he had been expecting too much from Donna, he thought as he walked into his office. But it was Donna, she always knew what he needed. And right now, he just needed her. He needed things to be how they'd always been. They were a team, and teammates didn't let each other down.

He picked up the phone, and called one of the three numbers he knew by memory. The line rang, rang, rang... "Come on, Donna, answer it," he muttered at the grating ring tone. God, he didn't have time to deal with this. Not now. The phone continued to ring as his anger increased, and when she finally picked it up, he all but shouted, "Didn't I tell you I'd see you in the morning," his eyes skid to her empty space, "Where the hell are you?"

"I'm not—sure," Donna said, in a strangely hesitant voice.

His brows knitted, as his annoyance was fueled even more by the non-Donna-like answer. "What do you mean you're not sure?"

"God, please, no more screaming," she whined. "I'm battered, hurt, I passed out on the pavement—"

What the hell? "What?"

"Bloodied—"

WHAT THE HELL? "Bloodied?!"

She was silent for a few seconds, only her harsh breathing could be heard over the line, then she whispered, "Oh my god!" A pause, then another teary, broken, "Oh!My!God!"

Panic rose its ugly head but he managed to press it down, and asked with a voice he hoped not only was soothing but commanding, "Donna," he started, "Donna, stay calm, and tell me where you are."

"Oh, god," her words mixed with her cries then all the logic left his mind, and panic overruled. "Donna! Goddammit," he yelled, standing up from his seat, listening to the silence, "Donna! Donna! Donna! Donna, TALK TO ME!"

But she wasn't, she wasn't talking. "Do—" The line went dead before he could finish her name.

* * *

He found Mike fifty two seconds later walking into the conference room, still trying to reach her on the phone. "Mike," he called as he entered after him listening to the metallic voice of the recording telling him that the number he was calling couldn't be reached.

_Thank you, Captain Obvious._ "Hey, I still have another four—"Mike stopped in the middle of his sentence, "What's the problem?"

"Donna—" he replied shortly, "She's—in trouble."

Mike raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Uh—you're—"

"Call the police," Harvey cut him off. "Her phone is offline. Then call Judge Patterson to get a trace ordered."

"Harvey—aren't you exaggerating—"

"She was crying—"Harvey said.

"Well, you know how she can fake it," Mike pointed out.

"It _wasn't_ an act!" he shouted. "She's somewhere she doesn't know, she just came around and she's hurt." He stopped, and turned to leave the conference room. "Mike, she wasn't acting. Call the police—_now_."

This time the younger man nodded, looking worried. Harvey knew he had a point, he'd seen Donna's acting skills firsthand, but Mike didn't know her like he did; she was in trouble. It was more than a gut feeling; he had never heard Donna like that, even the last year when he had cornered her in the bathroom she hadn't seemed so… lost. She had been on the verge of the tears, yes, but still holding herself up… He walked out. "Hey—"Mike called after him, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find her," he answered, without turning back. He was going to find her, and put everything back to the way it was.

* * *

Donna was a woman of routines. Every morning she had her breakfast from the same deli then picked up their usual cups of coffee from the shop next to the office. For lunch, there were only four restaurants she frequented, and she never ate anything heavier than a salad. For dinner, her options varied a bit, from fine dining to burger houses, but for causal drinking, especially the sort suited to getting rid of a terrible workday there were only two places that she preferred, thank god for small mercies.

Absently realizing just how much he actually knew about her daily routine, Harvey entered Johnny's. Johnny's was the type of corner pub that looked like it could have been the inspiration for Cheers, still even though the décor hadn't changed since the good old days it was nice, the people were friendly, the music wasn't terrible, and Johnny was the best bartender on the block. Her clothing choice yesterday suggested Donna had made it a Johnny's day, so the amicable pub had been his first choice. It turned out it wasn't his best deduction; Donna hadn't been seen in Johnny's last night.

Nodding briskly at the bartender/owner, Harvey walked out.

With its bright ambience, and eclectic clients, Ben's Den was the opposite of Johnny's; changing every year according to the latest trend. Sometimes Harvey wondered how those exact polar opposites could be her the most frequented places but as he learned over the long years he had known her, Donna Paulsen was full of surprises.

Nodding at a few patrons he knew from his own time there, Harvey walked to the bar. Behind the stall Eddie was on his daytime shift, a white rag hung over his left shoulder as he wiped the bar with another. "Hey, Harvey," he greeted him as he approached, and his hand momentarily halted. Eddie had once been a pro-bono client in the days he had been taking community cases, and he had felt gratitude to Harvey ever since, and wasn't shy about demonstrating it. "What can I get you, man?" he asked with a smile, as he resumed his cleaning, "There is just this awesome scotch we just got in."

Leaning to one of bar stools stayed up in the heels in the air, Harvey shook his head, "No. I'm not here for a drink. I was looking for Donna." Harvey paused as the man threw the rag under the counter. "Did you see her last night?"

"Donna—?" Eddie asked, taking the cloth that hung over his shoulder off too. "Yeah, she was here the last night... drinking heavily." He paused as Harvey frowned. "Is she okay?"

Harvey ignored the question. "Was she with someone?"

"No," the bartender shook his head, "No, she came alone."

"She talked to someone?"

"I dunno," he murmured, as on his face appeared a look of concentration. "Last night was busy. The gamblers in the block won, came out to celebrate—"He trailed off seeing Harvey's expression, but then said, "But I saw her talking to Philip, I think." He halted a second as he looked at Harvey hesitantly. "I think they left together, too."

His hands fisted along his hips. "Do you know who this Philip is?"

"Yeah," the man nodded skeptically. "Hey, is everything okay?"

"Where I could find him?" Harvey asked instead.

"Um—" the bartender hesitated, "Uh—why are you asking for him?"

"I'm gonna ask him a few questions, Eddie," Harvey grated through his teeth.

* * *

"What's this?" Philip Fields asked as he walked out from Jackson & Co.'s building on 50th Street in the business district, "Am I'm being sued or something?"

Ignoring his question, Harvey asked directly, "Where is Donna?"

The man looked lost for a second, "Who?"

"Donna Paulsen," he hissed, approaching him closer, "You were seen leaving Ben's Den with her." Recognition lit the man's eyes, as he looked at Harvey. "What did you do to her?" he asked, fury firing his voice.

"Whoaa..."The man took a step back. "I didn't do anything to her." The investment banker took another step, getting in his personal space back. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"We don't know," Harvey said curtly, "She's been missing since last night."

"Oh."

"They say you left with her," Harvey said, his tone now heavily accusing.

The man, on the other hand, chose to ignore that. "I left Eddie's with her. Then we parted our ways. I—" he halted, giving Harvey a look, as if to evaluate the situation and Harvey himself, then he said, "I asked her to come with me but she declined." He sighed briefly. "I asked to walk her to home then, but she declined that too, said she wanted to be alone." He paused again. "She was having a hard night."

His jaw clenched, as he nodded. "What did you talk about?" Harvey continued his interrogation.

"Mostly about her boss," the man answered with a ghost of smile on his features, then continued, "What a dick! Poor girl, she just should dump that son of bitch and move on."

His jaw twitched, and his hands started to itch, then Harvey realized his hands had pulled into fists again. "What did she say?"

The man shrugged. "You know the usual. It's not about what they say, more about what they don't."

Harvey really wanted to hit the guy. "You saw her last in front of Ben's Den?" he asked instead.

"Yes," the man answered with strong emphasis. "If you check the security cameras, you'll see it," then he frowned, "By the way, who the hell are you?"

He ignored his last question. "I will check it."

"Good," he said, "Now, I'd like to stay and _chat_ further but I need to go in." He extended his card. "That's my card. Give me a call once she's turned up."

Giving the man another look, Harvey took the card.

The man then turned and walked away, and Harvey called Mike. "Did you call Judge Patterson?" he asked as soon as the phone was answered.

His associate didn't falter. "Yeah, she's pulling some strings with the police. We'll have it in half an hour, I believe."

He nodded. "Good. Ask for Ben's Den's security cameras too. I want to see them."

"What?"

"The pub on the corner of 48th," he told Mike the full address then asked, "Did you start calling hospitals?"

"Yeah, Katherine is making the calls," Mike informed him, "but nothing has turned up so far."

As he nodded, he heard a chirp. "I have another call," Harvey said, "I'll keep in touch."

He took the other line. "Yes?"

"Mr. Specter?" a female voice asked.

"Yes," Harvey said again.

"Mr. Specter," the anonymous caller said, "I'm calling from New York General," his heart stopped beating for a moment. "You need to come here ASAP."

* * *

He had always hated hospitals, hated the pristine white assaulting his corneas, hated the heavy antiseptic scent burning his nostrils, hated feeling lost and confused, hated seeing how weak everybody was in reality, that the power they thought they had was just an illusion that disintegrated rapidly within these walls.

The hard sole of his designer shoes echoed on the floor as Harvey ran to the reception desk, his mind hardly processing what was happening. "Donna Paulsen," he said out of the breath to the woman waiting behind the desk, "She must be in the E.R."

The receptionist nodded, as she took the phone silently, and a look of pity lit her eyes. Harvey almost snapped at her not to look at him like that. "Dr. Anderson," she said softly, "Mr. Specter is here for Ms. Paulsen."

A few seconds later, the doctor walked to them interrupting his drilling of the receptionist for answers. "I'm sorry, I can't, sir. Dr. Anderson will answer—" she shot a relief look at the approaching doctor, "Dr. Anderson."

The middle aged doctor extended his hand. "Harry Anderson," he introduced himself.

"Harvey Specter," he took the hand. "Is Donna okay?"

The doctor nodded as he led him away from the reception desk. "Yes, she's okay," he replied. "Someone found her, and called 911, and you're the emergency contact listed on her phone—"Anderson explained, motioning him to the left side.

Harvey closed his eyes and let out a breath. "What's happened? She told—" his voice faltered a second, "she told me she was bloody."

The doctor gave him a look. "She's fine, Mr. Specter. And she was lucky," he said ominously.

Harvey felt like screaming. "What happened?"

Anderson seized him again. "Mr. Specter, what's your relation to Ms. Paulsen?"

The advocate and former DA in him recognized the signs; he had seen this many times, he had heard this many times but the man in him, the man who had seen Donna just last night, had seen her walking away from him, didn't want to believe it. "Doctor, what happened to her?"

"She was," the doctor started empathically with the years of practice, "raped."

Harvey held the wall, and tried to breathe.

* * *

The world was a blur, and he still couldn't believe this was happening to them. It happened to _other people_, the people he saw in the D.A's offices, or pro-bono cases, this happened in the newspaper's inner pages, or in the gutters of the city, but it couldn't be happening to Donna, not to Donna, please not to Donna. "She's fine," the doctor repeated again. Harvey snuck a glance at the reflecting glass panel next to him and saw his white face staring back at him.

"She—she said there was blood," the advocate in him emerged, and he questioned, voice strained, and stern, trying to keep control of his erratic feelings and his breath.

The doctor nodded, his face a mask of professionalism. "Tissue damage," he halted giving Harvey a side glance, "sustained in the assault."

The world shook again, and his control slipped. He clutched the first thing he found, the armchair next to him, and dropped himself into it. "She—" he forced out, voice barely above a whisper, faltering and cracked, "she didn't remember—"

"We took some blood for tests," the doctor answered, "I suspect drug facilitated sexual assault—"

"Did you talk with her?"

"No," the man shook his head. "She wasn't in any condition to answer questions when she was brought in. We sedated her. She's sleeping now."

"Did you call the police?" he asked, standing up, and fired at once, "Did you run the rape kit? Her clothes? Where are they? Did you send them for analysis?"

The man put a hand on his arm. "Mr. Specter," the doctor said soothingly, "We're doing everything according to the standard procedure. And we'll need to have her permission for the rest. We called her family, as well." Harvey pulled his arm back as the doctor went on, "and the police will be here momentarily." He paused for a second. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

Harvey glared at the man. "I want to see her."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, "You're not noted on the release forms and in her condition, visitation has been restricted. I've told you as much as I'm allowed. You'll need to wait for the police for anything else."

The doctor walked away. He sat on the chair again, dropped his head back and closed his eyes. A woman wailed somewhere, and he heard the running footsteps and the metallic sound of rolling stretchers as shouts of 'I'm losing him, I'm losing him,' reached to his ear. He muted the voices, hearing only what was passing through his mind, _'I'm so sorry, Harvey'_ she said as he watched her walk away from him…

His telephone chirped. He looked at the caller. "Mike," he answered.

"I found her—"

"In New York General," he completed for him.

"Yeah—" Mike agreed, "How did you know?"

"They called me."

"They called you?"

"I was her emergency contact," he explained, as something seized in his chest again.

"Oh," Mike said, "We're coming, we'll be on our way—."

"We?"

"Katherine and I," Mike clarified.

Katherine… Harvey thought about it for a second, and lowered his voice. "Don't," he ordered. "Tell her that I'm here, and that everything is okay. Don't tell anyone else anything either."

"Harvey," the younger man asked worriedly, "_is_ everything okay?"

"No," he said, "everything is not okay, Mike." He stopped seeing a police officer approaching him. "Drop Katherine, and come here ASAP."

* * *

"Mr. Specter," the dark haired man greeted him as Harvey stood up.

"Officer Rimes," the policeman introduced himself, and added with an empathic look, "My sympathies." Harvey nodded at the man curtly. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

Wordlessly, Harvey nodded again. "When did you arrive at the hospital?"

"Ten minutes ago."

The policeman took his notepad and started writing. "How did you learn about the incident?"

"The hospital called me," Harvey responded, "I was her emergency contact."

The older man's eyes lifted at him over the rim of his notepad. "When was the last time you saw Ms. Paulsen?"

Instinct told him to say last night before she left the office, but the advocate in him knew better than that. A few hours and Officer Rimes would have the security tapes for the buildings around her apartment and he was sure whose face was going to end up there. "Last night," he said, "In front of her apartment."

"What did you talk about?" Rimes questioned further, the tip of his tongue picking out as his brows furrowed into a frown.

Harvey's voice turned sterner. "We didn't," he stated.

The policeman's eyes lifted up at him again, as he arched one eyebrow. "You didn't?"

"No," Harvey confirmed, "I only saw her as she left her apartment."

"Why didn't you talk to her, Mr. Specter?"

"I decline to answer."

"When was the last time you spoke to her?"

"In the office," he answered.

"In the office?"

"We work at the some company."

"What was the topic of that conversation?"

"I decline to answer."

"You're a lawyer, aren't you, Mr. Specter?"

His chin twitched. "I fail to see the purpose of this question."

"I'm just trying to determine the nature of your relation to Ms. Paulsen." Harvey looked at the man, his face blank, as if carved from stone, and the policeman asked again, "Mr. Specter, what's your relation to Ms. Paulsen?"

The question turned in his mind over and over, as the policeman looked back at him with the same expression, grim and hard, empathy obviously forgotten.

What was his relation to Donna?

It was a question that he had heard many times, and now standing there, Harvey understood that it was also the only question he had never been able to find a suitable answer to. Through ten years, Donna had been many things to him; his confident, his mentor, his Girl Friday, even his one-time-lover, never-to-mention again, but he had never known what _he_ was to her. "Mr. Specter," the man urged.

His eyes moved from the man to the doors leading to where she lay. "I'm—" Harvey finally answered, "her lawyer."

* * *

_All right, writing this one was really hard, not just because of the nature of plot, but because of standard health procedures in USA, and without the help of my lovely beta, I'd probably screw it up big time. If you think I still did, though, do not hesitate to tell._

_Next, hopefully, will be Donna's side._

_Till then, stay well._


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry for the delayed update. Moonstruck Kitten has returned to the college, so editing was a little bit slow. But since you're this kind, and this responsive to me, you have my updating priority. I wouldn't have guessed that would happen. So thanks for the reviews; I'd started this story on a sudden urge, but now I feel myself very committed to it.**  
**_

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Three:**

* * *

It had to be a joke, twisted, inconsiderate, unforgiving, but a joke nevertheless. However, as the white assaulted her eyes, Donna knew it wasn't. The clues were clear, like breadcrumbs dropped along the path; the subtle ache between her legs, the looks that the nurses were giving each other, the way they walked around her, the actual words might be missing but the message was quite clear.

_Ignorance is bliss._

She closed her eyes, and tried to remember what had happened, tried to remember how she had ended up here, engulfed in the blinding whiteness.

Her eyes closed, her gut tossed with nausea, the scenes passed in her mind rapidly, like a lucid dream, blinking in and out of existence, as she tried to make sense of the snapshots. But it was a futile struggle, every time she came close to grabbing _something_, it slipped through the cracks of her memory.

She amended her first thought; ignorance wasn't bliss. Ignorance was annoying. She was Donna, after all; she must know everything.

"Ms. Paulsen," the nurse called her name softly, "Your lawyer is outside. Do you wish to see him?"

Her head titled up as her eyes opened, and her stomach twisted, and Donna realized there were lots of things she really didn't have any inkling about. "My lawyer?"

"Mr. Specter," the woman explained, "He's waiting outside."

A faint derisive, bitter, laugh escaped. "He told you he was my _lawyer_?"

The nurse stared at her, as if she didn't follow, and Donna wasn't surprised. "Let him in," she said, letting her head fall back on the pillow.

The woman left the room, then a few seconds later, he appeared, standing on the threshold, his face blank and white, his shoulders hunched as if he was Atlas, shouldering the world's weight.

_Of course. _Momentarily she closed her eyes, and tried to decide whether to scream at him to get the fuck out, or just to grab him and cry herself hoarse. "Hey," she said finally, opening her eyes.

As if the simple word was the only incentive that could move him from the place he was planted, he walked to her, and sat at the edge of the bed. "Hey yourself," he muttered.

Her hand moved over the sheet, and she grabbed his. "I'm fine, Harvey," she said through a tight throat and cracked lips. It was a lie, of course, she wasn't fine, in fact, she felt sick, her nausea growing with each word, but somehow she felt like she needed to say it, she needed to placate him, because she was Donna, and he was Harvey, and that was _exactly_ what was wrong with them.

She snapped her hand back, as if the contact burned her skin, and shook her head as tears welled. "Donna," Harvey said, voice just above a whisper, "Donna—"

She shook her head again, then something inside her twisted, pain hit her in a wave churning her stomach. "Arggh," she cried, pulling her legs up and clutching her belly. "Harv—" He rocketed to his feet, hands already pressing the call button, his face distorted with panic.

"Donna—"he closed in on her, leaning down, "Donna, what's the matter?"

The nurse came running, pushing Harvey out of the way, and clutched her shoulders. "What's happening?" Harvey asked, while another surge of pain had her folding in two.

The nurse motioned at the little basket next to her bed, and Harvey handed it to her, just before she started heaving.

"What's happening?" Harvey asked again, as the nurse held her hair back. Her hands fisted in the sheet as her stomach turned inside out.

"Emergency contraceptives," the woman explained softly, "They effect some more than others."

Morning after pills…she thought bitterly, and started laughing even as she continued vomiting…Pregnancy, AIDS, Hepatitis, it all ran through her head.

She felt Harvey's stare burning her neck, as she sat frozen. Her laughter turned abruptly into a wail and the nurse ushered him out as her chest felt like it was ripping in two.

* * *

His head bowed, a Styrofoam cup entered his line of vision. "I don't want coffee," Harvey growled.

Without blinking, Mike countered, "This isn't coffee."

He lifted his head as his nose picked up the salty bitter aroma, and took the cup gratefully. The first sip burned his throat, and Harvey decided he had never given his associate enough credit, and that this was worth a bonus, a very, very good one.

Wordlessly the young man settled on the seat next to him, and waited. He didn't ask, so he didn't offer any explanation, already aware that Mike had heard the news. There was something comforting in the silence, though, something almost soothing, and Harvey realized that he was more grateful for Mike's silent presence than his liquor.

Just he turned to Mike to let him know, for once, to make something right while it mattered, he noticed Dr. Anderson and Officer Rimes approaching. "Mr. Specter," the doctor said, his burrows furrowed. "Ms. Mackenzie said you were inside."

"I was," Harvey answered shortly.

"Is Ms. Paulsen ready to give her testimony?" the police asked.

He snapped, he just lost it. "No," he gritted through his teeth, "she isn't ready, Officer." He stood up. "Some son of a bitch raped her, and now she's in there puking her guts out so she doesn't get pregnant with the bastard's child!" He moved toward the officer, until Mike grabbed his arm. He shook him off but didn't move further. "So, _no,_ Officer Rimes, she's not yet ready to be drilled by you."

"Mr. Specter—" the doctor came in between them, his eyes dropping on the folder in his hands. "I know it's a delicate situation, but you have to understand." The man looked at him sincerely but unapologetically. "With every passing minute, the chances to determine the assailant drop. We need to send the data to the crime labs." He paused for a second. "And you know very well that we need her approval for that."

"We'll press charges," he said coldly.

"You're not legally representing her," the doctor countered, "We need her signature on the papers."

He wanted to rip their heads off for being this curt, this matter-of-fact, this was Donna, this was his—but the lawyer of course knew better they were acting under protocols. He took the folder from the doctor's hands, and walked back into her room.

She was resting on the bed, her hands on her belly, staring at the ceiling. Donna didn't make a move, but the nurse glared at him sternly when she noticed the folder in his hands. "You shouldn't be here," she said. "She isn't ready yet."

"I need to get her signature," Harvey whispered walking past her toward the bed.

Still Donna didn't move, pretending like he wasn't there. Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Donna—"he said, "I need—"

She finally turned her head. "You don't need anything from me," she said.

"Donna—"he tried again, "You need to sign the papers."

"I don't need to do anything," she insisted.

Harvey shot a glance at the nurse, who looked back at her emphatically. For a moment, he thought to hold her hand, but didn't dare attempt it, afraid of her reaction. "Donna," he took a breath, "Whoever did this to you, I'm gonna find him," he promised, "I'm gonna find him and hurt him, hurt him very much."

She titled her head and stared at him, her eyes heavy but glinting with fire, "Swear it."

"I swear," he obliged.

She nodded, and asked, "What are they?"

"Your permission to send the data they have gathered to the crime lab," he explained, and offered her the pen. She took it and curtly signed the papers.

"Send in the police, too," she said then, "Let's get it over with."

Harvey shook his head. "No, it can wait. You need to rest now. Your parents will be here—"

She straightened her back, her face distorting abruptly. "My parents?—Did you—did you tell them?" He looked at her. "How could you, Harvey?" she exclaimed.

"I—I—" he stuttered, "I didn't. The hospital called them after they called me." He made a move to help her sit back on the bed. "Standard procedure."

She shrugged his hands away. "What did they tell them?" she asked heatedly. "Did they tell?"

He shook his head. "No, no, just that there is a situation and you're in the hospital." Her eyes widened then she rose to her feet.

She stumbled grabbing the edge of the bed as Harvey caught her. The nurse rushed to their sides. "Donna-!" Harvey exclaimed as the same time the nurse cried, "Ms. Paulsen."

She pushed both of them away and straightened, "I'm fine. I need to go."

"Donna—" Harvey started again but she cut him off.

"I can't stay here," she said, shaking her head. "I need to go home. They can't know."

"Ms. Paulsen—You're not in any condition to leave," the nurse warned.

"I will sign whatever papers you bring to him," she turned to Harvey. "Harvey, arrange it. I want to go home."

"Donna," he said, "You need to stay. You need—"

"I don't need to do anything!" she shouted.

He took a step forward, and said stubbornly, "You need treatment."

She shook her head, as her lips turning up in a derisive sneer, "I was fucked, Harvey," she snarled, "Not shot to death."

He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. "Donna—" he opened them, "Donna—"

"You want to help me?" she asked cutting him off.

"Yes."

"Then get me out of here," she said with finality, "They _cannot _know."

"Nurse," Harvey called, his eyes fixed on hers, "Please prepare the release papers. I'm taking Ms. Paulsen home."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Mike arrived with new clothes from the store on the corner, walking into the room as they hunched over the papers.

"Absolutely not," Harvey declared sternly to Dr. Anderson, "We refuse to sign this." His eyes moved to Mike. "My associate will draw up another one," he said, pointing at the younger man.

Donna looked at him, her eyes cold. Then she turned to Harvey. "Who else knows?"

Mike gave Harvey a quick look before turning and practically fled to do his bidding. Harvey glanced at the contents of the bags, and took out the clothes. "Only him," he answered Donna's earlier question, "I—he called me when I'd just arrived." He kept his eyes on the bags purposely, refusing to lift his head. "I wasn't thinking clearly."

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. "Okay."

He lifted his head. "There is Katherine too, but she only knows you're in hospital."

Her eyes narrowed. "_What_?"

"She was searching the hospitals with Mike," he explained. "I—when you didn't pick up your phone, I was—" He cleared his throat. "I had them call the hospitals, and put a trace on your phone."

She gave him a look, gesturing to the dress in his hand. "What did you do?"

He handed it to her. "I went to Johnny's and Ben's Den." His eyes hardened, "This Philip—"

"Who?" she asked.

"Philip Morrison," he clarified, "You left Ben's Den with him last night. Do you remember?"

Her hands fisted inside the dress, and her face soured, and Harvey mentally kicked himself. "I'm sorry," he apologized hastily. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and turned to leave. "You put your dress on, then we'll leave—"

"I don't remember much of anything, Harvey," she said after him and his steps faltered. "I remember leaving Ben's Den but after that it's all fuzzy."

He turned back, and saw her looking at him as if the answers she sought could only be found in him, her figure almost trembling. He walked back to her, and grabbed her shoulders. "We're going to find him, Donna."

"What if we can't—" she asked, "I really don't remember _anything_."

"You will," he assured her, "and there are security cameras, and there are witnesses, Donna—" he took a step and looked straight into her eyes. "I'm gonna find him," he promised again. "Do you believe me?"

She smiled ruefully, her eyes shining under the tears she wouldn't let fall. "I've always believed you, Harvey."

_I wanted to believe him... _Something seized his chest again, and the hands on her shoulders stiffened. Then he noticed how close they had become, just inches apart, and he wanted to close that last inch between them, to take her into his arms, and comfort her, telling her everything was going to be okay. _'I'm here now, I've got you.'_

He looked at her, and she looked at him back, and just as he moved closer, just before he took the last step, she pulled back, and said, "I need to prepare."

Gulping through the lump in his throat, he nodded and left the room.

* * *

It was Ray arrived to take them to her home. Harvey had assured her that the man only knew that she was in hospital just like the rest of them, and once they had emerged out of the hospital, he had told her she had been mugged.

Leaning her head back on the car's seat, she closed her eyes. Mugged. In a manner of speaking, she was mugged, a part of her was stolen, her body violated, and she didn't even remember it. She didn't know for sure why it bothered her so much, it wasn't like that she wanted to remember it—but she felt like she was missing something, something big, something terrible, but still something important, and she was Donna, she _always_ knew everything.

_Her mother looked at her as she sat on the last step of the veranda, refusing to go back in. "Donna—"she didn't turn her head, bowing it to hide her face behind her long red locks. "Donna, please, don't be like this."_

_She didn't speak, but poked the dirt on the step with her foot. "Donna," her mother tried again, "Donna, please."_

_The pleading tone in her mother's voice angered her more, the way she uttered her name like it was her fault, like everything was her fault. "He's your boyfriend, isn't he?" she asked, and went on before her mother could answer. "And he asked to marry you, and you said yes!" she spat._

"_Donna—"_

"_How could you do to this to dad?" she asked, "He was his closest friend, how could you, just after his—" she stopped, words couldn't get out of her lips._

"_Donna, you don't know—"_

_She interrupted, "I know," she shouted, "I know everything!"_

"_Donna—"her mother tried again, but she sprung to her feet, and cut her off. _

"_When I love someone, mother, I won't be like you," she remarked with a cutting smile on her lips. "I will love him unconditionally, no matter what. I will always be with him, I will never let him down, never."_

The words were childish, spoken in adolescent anger and righteousness, in denial of death and the fact that life went on, but now to Donna they sounded like a prophecy, self-fulfilled.

God, she had made her own bed, had dug her own grave, and she was going to have to lie in it. Tears pricked in her eyes and she moved away from Harvey, her stomach twisting once again, only this time she wasn't sure about the reason for the nausea.

* * *

_God, here I am again, starting with back stories. I love making back stories for the characters I'm writing. I'm not sure about Donna's parents, but I think they have only mentioned once or twice during the show, and I'm really curious about Donna's this 'loyal to a fault' character and her 'I know everything' attitude, so I wanted to play with it further, and really, all cowboys have daddy/mommy issues :)_

_Next, another god-awful dinner in Donna's apartment. _

_Until then, stay well. And don't forget to review. They really give me so much incentive._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Oh, is it a bird, is it a plane, or is it an...update? Guys, I'm so sorry it took me this long to post this one, but I hope you are still with me. I'm not still one hundred percent content with this, so I'd be glad to hear what you think._

_Enjoy. (and don't hate me...)_

**Chapter Four:**

* * *

Saying it was weird to be in her home wouldn't be wrong, especially given the circumstances, but it wouldn't be entirely correct either.

Logic said there was no reason to be nervous of a house —four walls, one ceiling— but this wasn't any house, it was Donna's house, the house that he'd been avoiding like a plague for years now, and like last time, he had ended up here once again, something not entirely his idea, but not entirely his fault either.

The first time, they had been equally guilty; or equally innocent, and the second time—he stopped, holding a sigh on the tip of his tongue, and unloaded the packages in his hands on the kitchen floor. It was best not think about the second time.

But that thought brought him back to the first time, and his eyes skipped to the couch, and he snapped his head away so fast that for a moment he thought he managed to break his own neck. Okay, definitely not thinking about the first time, either.

He went to the kitchen, and started to prepare the food. Cooking was good, cooking was nice; it gave his hands something to do when they developed the tendency to pull into fists without his notice, and it gave his overly driven mind an opportunity to focus on a harmless topic; cut, chop, and stir ... salt, pepper, curry, his eyes determinately trained in front of him.

Donna had suggested picking up something when Ray had driven them to her house, but he had declined, said he was going to cook. She had shrugged, without bothering with an answer, and despite of her lack of interest, Harvey felt like he had made the right decision. A very tactical one, the sort that they both needed at the moment.

He had a suspicion as to why Donna didn't want her family knowing the situation, but he wasn't going to admit it to her. He still remembered the last time he had tried, and it was probably best not to open that can of worms, not now.

_Halfway through the dinner, Harvey realized what she was trying to do, or at least exactly why _he_ was at this little family gathering. It was subtle, every movement of hers was subtle, but also measured; as if they both were playing according to a text that only she knew fully. Taking the plate in front of him, her hands brushed his shoulder for a fraction of a second, and she bowed her head and gave him a smile, a small one, a little bit roughish, but more apologetic._

_Tilting his head up, he gave her back the same. If she wanted to play, well, he would just play along, this was Donna, and if she wanted it like _this_, he was sure there was a reason. Besides, it was also sort of amusing, watching her as she subtly hinted that they were more than—whatever they were. Boss and secretary, friends, one-night-lovers... Truth to be told he wasn't sure what they exactly were, but Donna always seemed to know what they exactly weren't. And now, they weren't exactly only boss and secretary._

_After serving the desert plates, Donna sat in her seat as her mother took a bite from the cheesecake, and held her wine glass. "Well then," the blonde woman remarked, her voice cultured with sweetness, and her cheeks rosy with the heat of the room and wine, "Congratulations," she lifted the glass up in the little pause, her eyes moving between them for a split of a second, "To your new job."_

_Her hand resting stiffly next to her utensil, Donna said curtly, "It was one and half years ago, mom."_

_Her mother's face froze for a second, as her husband sighed next to him. Donna remained expressionless, only looking blankly at her mother, but after a second the woman smiled, as if nothing had happened, as if she didn't get what her daughter had meant, "Well, belated congratulations, then." She took a sip from the wine, and went on, "Oh my, this is really good, northern Italian grapes, I presume, Mr. Specter—" She turned to him, as Donna shook her head with a sniff of disbelief, "Oh—should I call you now Harvey now?" she asked, her wide eyes going between them. "I mean—"_

_Harvey interrupted her before Donna could even open her mouth, "Of course, I'd be glad, and I would also be honored if you let me do the same."_

_Laura Lawless smiled bigger. "Ah, let's be careful, dear," she exclaimed lightly, her eyes shifting to her daughter, "We have a lady's man among us."_

_They all –minus Donna—shared a laugh then ate the desert in silence. After the plates were done, Donna stood up abruptly. "It's getting late," she said, an unapologetic smile on her lips. "We have a very important trial tomorrow morning, and Harvey needs to rest." Laura's husband, the invisible fourth that just sat between them, slowly eating but never making a comment, stood up too._

"_Yes," he said, and motioned to her wife. "We need to wake up early tomorrow morning, too." Laura rose, smiling. "Thank you for the lovely dinner. It was—lovely," the man said, nodding at her._

_Donna nodded, restrained but also respectful. Despite her treatment of her mother, she was always polite to her mother's husband, distant but never disrespectful. "We've arranged Harvey's condo for you," Donna said then, "You'll be more comfortable there than in any hotel," she said, again subtly hinting that he _wouldn't_ need it. _

"_My chauffer is waiting for you downstairs, he will take you there," he continued, as soon as Donna finished, playing his role to nine, and holding his hand out to the man._

_The man __took it with a tight grip, and gave __him __a firm shake. "Thank you," the man said._

_He returned it with a charming smile, "Don't mention it."_

_Laura approached. "Thanks, we appreciate it." She gave him a kiss on the check, and patted his arm, then she turned to her daughter._

_Donna stood stiffly while her mother held her candidly. Not taken back by the cold gesture, the woman said, "Thank you darling for the marvelous dinner," she smiled. "Everything was fabulous." He wouldn't have used any other adjective than—disastrous, but her smile was genuine as she walked back._

_As soon as they stepped out, Donna dropped on the couch, her eyes fixed on the door. "She's _so_ sweet she makes me sick."_

"_Well, some people are just sweethearts," he shot back, resting on the couch next to her. "What was that about?" he asked then, his eyes turning to her intrigued. "When you talked me into this, I didn't expect it to be—"_

"_God awful?" she interrupted._

"_Well," he replied with a shrug, "You're not blameless, either."_

_She shook her head. "She just never accepts things."_

"_Donna—"_

"_She's always so weak."_

"_Donna," he said, "She's your mother."_

"_And?"_

"_Well," he said, then paused the words not coming to his tongue. The sudden pause grew into an awkward silence, so he repeated, "she's your mother."_

"_Thank you for the reminder," she bit off. "Really."_

"_Hey—"he protested, "You talked me into this—with tears and all," he pointed out, "I think I deserve an explanation."_

_She used her best oblivious expression, but this time he didn't buy it. Tilting his head to the side, he merely gave her a look._

_She huffed. "You saw yourself how she is—" she explained, "She talks."_

"_I noticed," he mumbled, as she went on, "And she likes one certain topic more than others." His eyebrow raised, she punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, don't give me that look."_

_His lips turned up into half of a grin. "What look?" he asked innocently._

_Her hands rose to defend herself, and she shook them agitated, "I just didn't want to listen to another 'there are more things to life than working' lecture."_

"_Well," he said again, stretching his legs to the floor, "There are." The couch crunched under his weight, and the sound brought him back to the reality of where he was, who he was with, and he stood up abruptly as if the velvet cloth under him had burned him. Startled, she looked up at him. His posture rigid, he looked back, then said, "Don't be so hard on her."_

_Donna sniffed, whisking her head away. "Don't be hard on her or she'll be broken" she muttered, the contempt coloring her voice, and that moment she looked nothing like the Donna he knew._

_And it hurt. "Not everyone responds the same to tragedy, Donna," he remarked._

_Her head snapped back to him. "She's has always been weak," she said through gritted teeth, standing up, "You can tell her that the world will end tomorrow, and she still would talk about the fucking grapes!" _

_He gave her a look. "Donna, can I ask you a question?"_

_She turned around, and walked to the kitchen. "Just the notion of you asking me to ask a question says I should say no—" she muttered as he followed her._

_He ignored her. "Are you angry at her because she got remarried a month after your father's funeral, or are you mad at her because she wasn't strong enough?"_

_Her hands stopped midair, and she turned to him. Her eyes were cold, and emotionless, and when she spoke, her voice was even colder, "I think you should go now."_

"_Donna—" he said but she had already turned her back on him, and walked away._

* * *

She finished the last touches of her make-up, put the brush down on her vanity table, and looked in the mirror. The reflection there wasn't anything like she felt, in the mirror there was a woman that looked beautiful, her fiery locks brushed brightly, the dirt washed away. She didn't look like someone who had been violated brutally just a night ago, but she could see the bruises underneath the layer of the foundation if she looked close enough; where the paint peeled, and reality invaded.

Pushing the thought from her mind, Donna smiled at her reflection and for the first time in many years, she felt she was truly like her mother's daughter.

Weak, and pretending, looking her best even when the world was ending. Her hands trembled, pulling into fists, and she wanted to nothing more than to break what she saw in the mirror.

Donna had been always his father's daughter, from her ginger hair and fair skin to her strong nature, and she refused to stop because of something she couldn't even remember fully. She was Jonathan Paulsen's daughter, the proud doctor, the lovely husband, and amazing father.

Without another look in the mirror, she turned and walked out, and saw Harvey in her kitchen, cooking dinner. Her steps halted, and she stopped in her tracks, her eyes locked on his figure, and she knew she shouldn't looked at him, not like this, almost gaping, but the experience was so bizarre she couldn't help it. Harvey Specter was cooking in her kitchen, with the cuffs of his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he chopped tomatoes meticulously, like it was the most demanding job in the universe.

And just yesterday he had turned his back on her, _again._

_I'll see you in the morning._

The blood retreated from her veins, and she felt the world spin, as the snapshots assaulted her. Harvey turning away from her, _I warned you, Donna, don't say I didn't_, and that man—Philips—pouting, _are you really going to talk about your boss the whole night_. Then another—face blurred, his kisses assaulting her mouth… then Harvey again—chopping tomatoes in the bright light of the kitchen—She held her head between her head. "Stop!" she shouted, "Stop!"

The noises stopped, and all sunk into silence. She lifted her head and looked at him; his hand frozen in the air, as he looked at her, stupefied. "Please," she continued her voice so small even she almost couldn't hear it. "Don't," she tried again. "Stop cooking."

He dropped the knife, and nodded, his posture didn't betray his emotions anymore; not that it had much before. "Okay," he turned around, and took his phone. "I'll call Ray to bring us something."

She nodded, and sat on the couch. Her eyes skipped to the window, and she looked at the falling night. "You shouldn't be here," she said then.

Walking out of the kitchen, he gave her a look. "Donna—"

"You have a murder trial—" she cut him off, "You need to prepare, not chop tomatoes in my kitchen."

"Don't worry about it," he sat on the couch next to her, "I'll handle it."

"Jessica will have your hide," she countered, "You missed at least three appointments today."

"It is okay," he mumbled.

Her eyes burning feverishly, she stood up, and yelled at him. "No, it's not okay," she shouted, "nothing is okay." She shook her head. "You shouldn't be here, _I_ shouldn't be here. We should be—" The words didn't get completed as her doorbell rang. She passed a hand through her hair, and ruffled her locks. "Oh, god," she muttered.

Harvey passed by her with a worried look, and opened the door, and she saw the last face she would have liked to see right at that moment; her mother.

* * *

For the rest of her days, Donna decided, she was going to remain eternally grateful to Paris and its indescribable beauty. "And the shops—" Laura Lawless cooed with excitement, as she went on with her _description_, "and the shops—"she repeated, "Donna, sweet darling, you _must_ see them. They are so lovely."

"I've been there _twice_, mom," she bit out under her breath, as she cut the steak on her plate, her head bowed. She was going to remain eternally grateful to Ray, too, as the man had managed to pick up something for them to eat in record time. Dismissing a frown, Donna tried not to think of how many times he'd needed to do something like this, as Harvey charmed his dates by the _extensive_ use of his cooking skills.

The thought didn't bother her, as she had never been bothered by his girlfriends, but for some reason it hurt, like her flesh was cutting, and she wasn't even sure why. The feeling was more than annoying, but more than a little bit incorporeal as another surge of nausea hit and the meat rolled in her stomach. Maybe the reason hadn't anything to do with Harvey at all, she thought as the cramp tightened her insides, and she clutched her belly, her forehead breaking out in a cold sweat. Okay, definitely nothing to do with Harvey—her insides were hurting, like she was cut into a million pieces, because she had been—she hand been violated—

Throwing the napkin from her hands, she sprung to her feet and of course, Harvey rushed to her side, at the first sign of trouble. "Hey—" he said softly, with a voice she hated hearing from him. "Are you okay?" His hands gripped her shoulders for support, and she hated herself for leaning toward him, "Another fit of nausea?"

Wordlessly, she only nodded, and let him maneuver her toward the bathroom. Halfway to the hall, she shook her head, she couldn't get there, she couldn't face herself, the woman in the mirror, she just couldn't. She shook her head again, and nodded at the kitchen.

His eyes slightly narrowed, Harvey guided her back. Putting a foot inside the kitchen, the images flooded her, Harvey cooking, chopping tomatoes, his cuffs rolled up, the faint red water of the tomatoes sliding over his wrist as he angled his hand—she closed her eyes and waved off the memory. Then she pushed herself off of Harvey.

The world shook, and for a moment, stumbled and she gripped the edge of the counter, tightly, until her knuckles turned white, as if it was her only anchor in the world. Then she took a deep breath, and lifted her head to look at him.

His eyes were squinted with worry, and—hesitance, as he stood just an inch away from her, like his feet planted, but this time he hadn't made a move forward, he hadn't tried to take the step, and she thought perhaps he wasn't sure either of what this—all of this—meant. "You should go back," she said, straightening her back. "I'll be right there."

"Are you sure?" he asked, because he was the heroic one, all the time, after all.

She nodded indifferently, her hand already moving from the edge to pour a glass of water for herself. Possibly the only thing she could stomach now. Water—pure and clean, purging, she tipped the glass and drank the water as if it was the well of life.

The cure didn't come, of course, her stomach twisted again, as the liquid slipped through her belly, and she almost threw it up. Shaking her head at her own absurdity, she set the glass down. Then she heard her mother's voice. "They shouldn't have let you out—" Closing her eyes, she cursed inwardly. She didn't need to deal with this. She just so didn't need to deal with it. "What were they thinking?"

She bowed her head to hide her face behind her locks. "I'm fine."

"You don't look like fine," her mother countered, "Your hands are trembling."

Her eyes lowered, and when she noticed the tremors, hot tears pricked her eyes. She drew blood from her lips not to let them fall. "I'm fine," she insisted. "I just felt a little sick."

"Donna—"

"I'm okay," she repeated, and lifted her head to face her.

She wasn't sure what she saw from her expression, as she tried to make it expressionless, but after a second while, her sharp blue eyes widened, and a smile split her lips in two. "Donna—"she exclaimed, "Donna, oh god, you're—" she halted for a second, as the genuine joy lit her face, "Oh my god, Donna, am I going to be a grandmother?"

"What?"

"You—" she stammered, "you, and Harvey—" she paused again, "I mean—he was so worried when you stood up from the table—rushing to your side—and you know—"

She couldn't hear anymore. "I'm not pregnant, mom." The joy dimmed off her mother's face. "And I'm not with Harvey," she grated leaning toward her.

"But I thought—"

She cut her off, "I don't care what you thought. I'm not with Harvey—" she hissed cattily, barely controlling the urge to shout at her. "I'm not with anyone!"

"Donna—"

"Forget it—" she shook her hands, and noticed they weren't trembling anymore as the hot anger ran through her insides like a fire, blocking every other sentiment. It was destructive, because she wanted to destroy something, make them hurt, no matter how nauseated she was, and one part of her, through the hazy wavering mist knew she shouldn't, that she should stop, but she just couldn't find the reason. "I will never be your daughter, okay? Accept it. I'll never be like you," a sneer appeared on her lips as they parted with a haunting mock, "weak like you."

This time her mother's eyes watered, and her mask finally slipped, as her voice wavered, "You will never forgive me, will you?"

"Forgive you for what?" she asked, voice taunting, "Because you slept with dad's best friend before his death, or because you waited barely a month to marry, mother? Forgive you being so weak that you ran into another man's arms to seek solace?"

Tears running freely, her mother shook her head, "I'm not like you—not—"

"No—" she cut her off, agreeing, "No, you are not."

Tears still in her eyes, her mother turned on her heel, and fled, feet hurriedly moving her to back in the living room, then toward the door, and she followed in her steps, serenely, like it was her body moving and she was watching it from above.

Her mother frantically opened the door, and threw herself out, while her husband climbed to his feet, giving Donna a look, but this time she didn't have patience even for _him_. The sneer returned. "Go ahead," she almost purred, her voice so sweet it could kill, "go after her, and comfort her, like you always have."

"Donna—"

She turned her back, "Go," she walked toward the window, "Leave me alone."

She heard the door snap shut behind her, and she angled her head to glance back. Her eyes met with Harvey's disapproving figure. "What?" she asked, holding his eyes in the reflection, and the woman there wasn't like _that _woman, that trembling, sick, hurt woman. She was on her feet.

She wasn't weak. Her insides were still hurting, deep inside, her stomach was still twisting with pain, and the bruises were still there under a thick layer of foundation, but at least no one could see it. No one.

"Donna—" Harvey started, but she cut him off, too, her back still to him.

"—I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

_Yup, it was her turn to turn her back on him :( As I said, don't hate me._


End file.
